


Nothing's Gonna Hurt You Baby

by trepidatingboarfetus



Category: Grand Theft Auto Series (Video Games), Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Anal Sex, Childhood Abuse, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Choking, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Manipulation, Gay Sex, M/M, Not Very Nice Terms From the Past, Oral Sex, Sexual Repression, Trigger words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:07:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29039115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trepidatingboarfetus/pseuds/trepidatingboarfetus
Summary: Michael comes to a few realizations after a night of drinking with Trevor and reminiscing over an old song.
Relationships: Mentions of Michael and Amanda, Michael De Santa/Trevor Philips
Comments: 10
Kudos: 34





	Nothing's Gonna Hurt You Baby

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is finally, oh my God. There is no damn way this would have been only 4000 words lmao. It ended up being almost 14K and about 30 pages, yikes. I’m too long-winded for my own good sometimes. But once this got going...eh. 
> 
> Anyway, this is Michael-centric, yep. Also, very damn NSFW. Like if you don’t like rough stuff, abort, abort, abort because not only does Trevor have a slight meltdown after, uh, Michael lets Trevor do the fucking instead of being the one to get fucked like the comment he makes in the one mission, but there’s just a lot of past talk of abuse, old school repression, self-hate, and two old guys (and once young guys) trying to deal with it all at different points in their life. 
> 
> To explain a bit too, Michael switches back and forth a bit between Mike and Michael as a “comfortable with himself” sort of thing. I figure Michael is more or less what he started primarily using because of Amanda’s preference/as a way of “growing up,” so it’s a headcanon thing, eh. 
> 
> Yes, there’s angst, there are a few funnies because it wouldn’t be these two without some sarcasm, and there’s a nice ending (with translated French because you’ll never tell me Trevor doesn’t know it, dammit).
> 
> TW: Obviously, because Michael and Trevor grew up in a different time, there are a few shitty words used herein to reflect why the self-hate and the need to stay hidden. Nothing more. I hate the goddamn words with a passion, but unfortunately can’t pretend they didn’t exist as much as I would like to. And like I said above, there’s talk of abuse too, so be prepared. :-/
> 
> Nothing's Gonna Hurt You Baby is by Cigarettes After Sex. The ‘90s R&B song they dance to is I’ll Die Without You by P.M. Dawn, and there’s a very early Cigarettes After Sex song referenced here that Michael hears at Singleton’s called I Can’t Stop These Tears From Falling. Enjoy. Or Something. Ugh. I started out OK with it and just...idk.

_Whispered something in your ear_

_It was a perverted thing to say_

_But I said it anyway_

_Made you smile and look away_

No one ever expected him to be one to lean heavily into the man sitting next to him with the fading remnants of what was once beautiful chestnut-colored locks of hair that used to sweep past his muscular shoulders and whisper sexually suggestive come-ons into his rapidly reddening ear, but he did it. After a few beers. And a number of shots. He lost count. But he did it, and he was proud of himself. 

There were pieces of Michael James Townley that still existed deep within him. They were called upon when he planned a heist, when he needed to take charge in a volatile situation that had just changed gears, when he had to lie through his teeth to someone even if it didn’t feel quite right doing so -- or in some cases, even if it did, and there were other places where those pieces still came out, sometimes unwanted and unwillingly, leaving him just as breathless and confused as they had decades before. 

When the only thing he’d dared to pick up was a football, a golf club, a tennis racket, a baseball bat, or a basketball, he’d had...certain feelings about things then. Down in the locker room, he saw things, heard things...and as close as he got to anything was the senior quarterback groping him when he was still just a freshman on the squad. He’d been just an underling then, no one special. It had been a hazing of sorts, of course, as all shit went, but the much taller and stronger guy had pushed his meaty hand down Mike’s practice pants, into his Fruit of the Looms, and had grabbed a handful, squeezing tightly while grinning into Mike’s face before a noise had interrupted them. 

He was never quite sure what he would have done if one of the afterschool janitors hadn’t wandered into the locker room, but he had guiltily beat off to that image for months until he had half-assed confessed in the box, and he had conveniently left out the part that he was jerking off to an older guy. He didn’t dare to unleash that information. His town would chew him up and spit him out. 

And there had been times. He’d see someone bend over, take a glance. Check out a nice shirtless body. He knew. God would damn him to Hell, he _knew_ about himself. He kept trying to bury it down, but it felt like the more he did, the more pissed off at the world he grew. It felt stupid having to hide this fucking part of himself. 

He felt like one of the mutants in those comics, hated and feared by a world that didn’t understand him. 

So he threw every bit of his anger and focus into football, so much so that he had the starting QB position the third week of sophomore year right after their previous one snapped his fibula and mangled his Achilles falling down some steps at a party. And they won. Kept on winning. Soon, everyone loved him in a way he hadn’t been able to find; not in God, not in his friends, not in his own family. 

It felt like walking on air. He never wanted it to end. 

But as with all things going great in his life, something had to sour, and the feelings popped back up. Looking back as an adult, he’d realize that he was in the full-on thrust of hormones, and it was hell. There wasn’t anything he could’ve done, and it didn’t mean anything was wrong with him. But boy, he had sure thought so then. 

Just like the senior who’d stuffed his hand down his pants before him, he’d started acting aggressively towards others. He always stopped just short of that, but he definitely hit a point where he wasn’t sure where his frustrations over life and game-time temper ended and pent-up sexual venting began. 

He’d always thought that getting a career-ending injury was the worst shit that could happen to a guy like him with all of the school work effort and football practice he’d put in over the years just to get out of that shithole town and prove himself as something more than trailer trash like his parents. Really, he used to think that it was old school punishment from God for his temptations, so he kept trying to squelch them down even more and bang any girl that would look his way. He knew he was good looking enough and could charm a snake.

Probably because it took a snake to charm one, as Trevor would say. 

Ah, and there he was. His reason beyond caring about injuries, tempers, high-strung coaches, bitchy cheerleaders, asshole parents who were never around except to kick him around when the moment arose, and missed opportunities. 

He never expected those feelings he’d been fighting for years to come rushing in and overflow like a dam breaking from a winter’s heavy thaw. Everything had happened so fast, but he remembered looking into Trevor’s eyes as they stood over the body of the newly deceased portly guy, and he watched totally mesmerized at the way the amber flecks in the hazel glowed like streaks of pretty fire in them as Trevor stared at him pukey anxiously but also kind of like he was filled with nervous excitement too.

And he fell in love so easily. He never meant to, he prayed to God that he was so fucking sorry every night, but then every time shit went mercifully, blessedly _right_ for them, he’d turn around and thank God, praying that Trevor would never leave his side. 

It was so hard though, so fucking difficult to ignore years of conditioning to repress a part of himself every time someone stared in _that_ way, he heard “fags,” or a job went wrong, and his parents’ voices were in his head, one after one, chastising him for doing ungodly shit, that _maybe_ if he weren’t busy fucking some dirty guy and letting that guy fuck him, he wouldn’t be in these predicaments. 

So he’d pull away and begin to throw himself at women, hurting Trevor in the process, but they’d pretend it was all OK, just _being bros_ and having some fun, but they _knew_. They knew the awful truth. 

He was running away. And eventually, he succeeded with Amanda. And he prayed and prayed, prayed that God would let Trevor stay by his side still even though he felt like the world’s worst ass for doing so, but his heart hurt too much to think about what it would be like without him. So he was overjoyed when Trevor went nowhere because that’s how loyalty worked with Trevor, so he wasn’t sure why he was ever worried in the first place. 

But the day after he mentioned he had to marry Amanda because she was pregnant, he’d seen that the twinkle was missing from Trevor’s eyes and had been replaced with a kicked dog look, and he’d felt kicked himself when later that week he’d come to the realization that he’d put that there in Trevor. 

They’d argued, of course. Trevor, being Trevor, had demanded if he’d known to use a goddamn condom, and he’d had to admit it broke, feeling very much like he was telling his fucking dad that he’d gotten his girlfriend knocked up for this same reason...it pissed him off, and their fights were never pretty. They were never physical, but they knew how to hurt each other just right in the ways that always seem to stick around.

Trevor disappeared the next day. 

At first, he didn’t worry. Much. He figured that Trevor would calm down after a few days of binging and come around because crank tended to make him horny like no other, but then a few days turned into a week, and then that turned slowly into a month, and after a month, he talked to Lester who was already well aware, but wouldn’t talk much other than to say that, “Trevor wants time to himself so I sent him to do some work elsewhere.”

He felt as fucking helpless as Lester was becoming year after year from his wasting illness. He couldn’t just beat the info out of the guy he considered a friend of sorts. And he was too embarrassed to explain why he needed to speak to Trevor so desperately, why his insides were twisting miserably, why he felt like he was coming apart at the seams...he just couldn’t explain it. He could barely explain it in his head to himself. When Amanda asked what was wrong, he couldn’t answer. 

He still didn’t have the answer most days, not for himself, not for her, and especially not for Trevor. He didn’t know why he needed to lose track of how much alcohol he had in his belly in order to whisper, “I want to lick those golden flecks straight out of your eyes and get lost in them,” and watch as Trevor turned various hues of pink, red, and purple before he smiled so shyly -- a look that was both so out of place on him but also so fucking cute at the same time -- and darted his vision elsewhere. 

_When we dance in my living room_

_To that silly '90s R &B _

_When we have a drink or three_

_Always ends in a hazy shower scene_

It was Singleton’s, and as all things went, they had a fucking Thursday’s Throwback night like every bar in the history of Los Santos, so this one had to be _The Gay Nineties_. A lot of familiar songs were hitting the both of them in ways that neither one really wanted to address, but right after he had the balls to get a little frisky for old time’s sake or whatever his dick thought it was doing, _that_ fucking song just had to come on. Just _had_ to. Jesus, he was in Hell. 

And of course, Trevor looked like he was enjoying himself, the fucking sadomasochist that he was. “Oh, holy shit! Don’t you _love_ this song, Mike?? Or I remember you _did_.” He climbed closer, almost into Michael’s lap, and murmured hotly into his ear, “I remember the last time I heard this song, actually. Don’t _you?_ ”

Yes, he did. How the fuck could he not? 

* * *

Trevor had come back right before the wedding, like literally two nights before, swooping into Lester’s place with the same manner an Arctic front comes down from Canada, announcing that he was there to throw a party as a good best man should, and at that moment, Mike didn’t have it within him to tell him that Lester was the best man because there was no one else, and he’d be damned before he’d make his shifty step-brother have any part in anything. He was still standing with his mouth open and jaw dropped, trying to count the days since he’d last seen this…

...this man who looked as if he had forgotten what food was, appeared more disheveled than he last remembered, and had lost some hair. What the fuck had _happened?_

“What...where...Trevor, where the fuck have you _been?_ ” He was fixated on the scabs and pockmarks dotting his skin, making him look raw and like he’d been boiled in acid. Tension loaded into his shoulders and neck, and he rolled, trying to ease the pain, but instead, it felt like everything settled in his belly. “I...I thought you were doing something for Lester, so we’re not really having a party or anything. Mandy doesn’t want me around any other girls anyway.” He heard Brad and Moses snigger in the background, and even Lester looked like he was trying to keep a poker face but failing miserably. It sounded ridiculous, yeah, he knew. Not even married, and Amanda had his balls in a vice grip

But it wasn’t like he wasn’t giving her reasons to worry, not with him sniffing around her friends, her sisters, random women on the street...he had just needed something to shut his mind up, to take his thoughts off of Trevor’s whereabouts.

Trevor threw an arm around him, hugging him close as if they’d never parted in a shitty way. “I’m on break, compadre! Eh, those do exist, you know. Lester told me it was almost time, so I thought I’d come up so we could paint the ol’ town orange.”

“It’s red, dumbass,” Brad piped up, peering over the cards he was holding. “Paint the town red.”

“One, I’m surprised you even know that,” Trevor quipped holding up one finger, then two, “and two, orange is much more fun,” he chuckled, wiggling his eyebrows lewdly. Brad curled his nose in disgust which made Trevor laugh loudly. “So what about it, loverboy? Let’s get out of here?”

So many warning flags were going off in his head, reasons why getting involved with Trevor was labeled _Not A Good Idea_ , but he also hadn’t seen him in a long while, hadn’t felt his touch, and the roughened look he carried worried him and thrilled him a bit too if he were honest with himself, so ultimately, feelings and curiosity won over logic.

He grabbed Trevor’s hand and pulled them toward the door. “Yeah, let’s go.”

“Are you certain--” Lester started to mumble from behind his cards, but he was quickly cut off by a pleading glance from Mike, and Lester said no more. Put his eyes back down and pretended all was fine. 

They did a lot of that for his benefit, he knew. It wasn’t like he wasn’t grateful for it. And he knew he was treading down a dark path, running off to do God only knows what with Trevor but damned if he didn’t want those last moments. He wasn’t sure what the fucking future held for either one of them, not with their line of work, not with his impending marriage, and not even with Trevor’s state of mind which could make him decide to wink back out of existence any day now. These were all the things that kept Mike up at night, worrying his lips, his fingernails, his whiskey...any fucking thing he could get his mouth on. 

That oh so familiar hand caressed the stubble on his face, sliding against it roughly in a tickling manner. “You need to stop worrying so much, sugar. You’re going to worry yourself into a fucking early grave.” Hazel eyes searched him, and he could see tiny speckles of almost light orange in them, casting a sort of odd glow to them in the remnants of the fading sun. It reminded him of the way cats’ eyes were in the dark when lights hit them just right. 

And that felt just about right. Trevor could feel like a sort of big feral cat to him, waiting to attack at the right time, and God, it was a weird but amazing fucking feeling all at once to be wanted like that. 

Michael stopped them before they got to the car, aware that people were probably watching out the window like they were a goddamn spectacle, but he really didn’t care at the moment and just wanted to feel that Trevor was still real when he hugged his arms around him. “I missed you, you fucking idiot.” He smiled into his friend’s neck, inhaling the lingering scent that was stale beer, burnt plastic, weed, blood, and cheap cologne amongst other things that were all undeniably Trevor when he went missing for too long. “And how did you know I’ve been worrying?”

Trevor pulled him away to look at him, like _really_ look at him, and Michael felt as if he was staring into his soul. It made him want to sink and slither away into the ground a bit. “It’s written all over your face, just like it always is. You think I can’t tell these things?” He snorted to himself, looking away off into the sky at a plane in the far distance. “You think she’s going to know you any better than I already do?”

And there it was. Trevor didn’t fuck around when it came to wounding people, physically and emotionally. He liked to hurt as badly as he, himself, hurt. Mike was no dunce, he just liked to ignore that out of convenience. Fuck, he felt like a heel. 

Opening the passenger door, trying to do at least _something_ nice, something he would do if they were...if they were the ones allowed to get married, he ducked his head and murmured, “Can we just have a nice time? Please?”

Trevor nodded but not before hotly retorting to himself, “For fuck’s sake, I’m not goddamn Amanda, don’t need doors held open for me.” As Mike walked over to the other side and climbed in the passenger seat, wondering _again_ if this was another mistake by him, if he should just leave it all in the past, a cough came from his right, and Trevor softly offered, “Thanks.” 

Michael smiled widely in the rearview mirror as he pulled out. Would wonders never cease?

Painting the town orange had amounted to buying copious amounts of booze and coke, going back to Michael’s place -- or at least it would be just a bit longer until Amanda officially moved in, so he had to get his shit together and get it cleaned up still, goddammit -- throwing on the radio to some pop station that had Trevor threatening to tear his eardrums out with a screwdriver, and burning through the booze and doing lines of coke off everything they could think of. At a certain point, they were so damn high, they were doing lines off each other, and that -- _that_ is what Mike had missed as fucking terrible as all that sounded. The total eroticism of watching Trevor lining up coke from his cock and then huffing it through his nostril quickly was like something out of an Italian masterpiece, and the experience was even better. Nothing made him harder than the titillating sensation it left. 

Trevor offered him another line, this one straight from his palm, and it was like accepting some sort of nectar of the gods straight from one as it burned through his nose blessedly, sharpening his mind as it hit him just right after a few minutes.

“The pièce de résistance!” Trevor yelled gleefully as he held up the remainders of a baggy. “I’m going to snort what’s left off your nipples!”

That went straight to his dick, Jesus fucking Christ. Trevor _knew_ what the hell that shit did to him, _anyone_ at all touching him there. He moved his head to glare at him. “Don’t you fuckin’ _dare_.” 

The wicked son-of-a-bitch in front of him licked his lips and grinned so fucking sinfully, always always _always_ knowing just how to get his goat, how to do the things that would make Michael question everything about himself, make him second-guess all of his decisions in life up to that point. 

And maybe that’s why he was.

“Oh, but I _am_ , Mikey,” he replied silkily in his ear. “Gonna snort right off those big old pert nubs and lick them clean after.”

“God _damn,_ Trev.” He wanted to tell him he hated him...wanted to tell him anything that would keep him going but also to cut it the fuck out. The man was going to be the death of him. “Just fucking do something already,” he whimpered, closing his eyes to the madness. 

There was a bubble of laughter that was youthlike and just barely restrained as Trevor divided what was left and then proceeded to do the exact thing he had said he was going to do, and God help Michael, it was such a crazy ride, making him delirious with need to the point he was nearly ready to push Trevor off him after a few erroneous licks and sucks with that sweet devilish tongue of his, but a piano melody came on the radio, and his nutty friend switched gears. He hummed into Mike’s ear and yanked him up. “I love this song. Dance with me, Mikey.”

The first lyric hit, and he knew what this was. PM Dawn. One of those fucking shitty R&B pop love ballads that were the new rage on the only local radio station that didn’t play country or spout useless farming bullshit, but damn him, when Trevor started singing some of it in his ear, he wanted to melt into the goddamn floor. That was the only way he could put it to words. It was something he got stuck up deep inside of him like when listening to Queen, Genesis, Phil Collins, Peter Gabriel, Elton John...any of that shit. It was an overwhelmingness, a need. 

“Is it my turn to wish you were lying here? I tend to dream you when I’m not sleeping,” came Trevor’s soft baritone. Arms tightened around him in a bear hug, and Michael felt his heart skip a beat at the same time as much as his mind wanted it all to stop. This hurt too much. What the fuck had he done, oh God, what the _fuck_ had he done here?

“Is it my turn to hold you by your hands, tell you I love you, and you not hear me?” Tears formed at the creases in Trevor’s eyelids. “Is it my turn to totally understand? To watch...to watch you walk out of my life,” he sobbed, breaking down, “ _and not do a damn thing??_ ” He fell to his knees on the floor, wailing with his head in his hands. Michael followed him down to the shitty, sticky carpet and hung an arm around him, waiting on him to calm down. After a few swigs from a bottle and about half an hour, everything died down into a few random hiccups and sniffles. “I’ll die without you,” he whispered and stared into Michael’s eyes with the look of a very small, very frightened boy on his face. 

Was it the same defenseless one Trevor had given his fucking father or his goddamn brother or any of the rotten kids or foster parents who’d beaten on him over the years?

Or was it the same penetrating gaze Mike had used on his own dad and stepdad a time or few before he’d learned ways to avoid them entirely?

Gulping back some of his fears, he took Trevor’s hands in his, trying to show some reassurance that he wasn’t going anywhere, but it was always easier said than done when it came to shit like this. “I’m just getting married, T, not going to the other side of the moon.” He brought his hand up to Trevor’s face and brushed his cheek gently. “I...I know it hurts. Fuckin’ a, it _hurts_ , OK? My heart hurts so fucking much right now, and that’s...I’m being _real_ with you.” He placed Trevor’s hand on his chest, allowing him to feel what was racing beneath the skin, how nervous and confused and horrible he felt, how he wished that things were different, how he wanted to just run away, but...but that would go against everything he’d been taught growing up. He couldn’t allow himself to do it.

He cared for Trevor with all of his heart, but he couldn’t cave into the pressure created by that one little thing. They couldn’t even get married, not legally, couldn’t have rights, it wasn’t moral...what chance did he stand?

But he still couldn’t understand why they couldn’t exist in some sort of capacity, so he bared himself -- something he still had yet to do for anyone other than the man sitting next to him -- and let him feel what was there. “Can...can you feel it, T?” He willed himself to not choke up and cry like some fucking broad, but here he was, a tear trailing down his cheek as he looked warily at Trevor. “Do you feel how broken it is?”

Trevor peered down at his chest thoughtfully and then gazed back up at his face in wonder before leaning forward to lick the solitary tear from his face. “Fuck me in the shower, Mikey.”

That brought Michael back into himself because it was such a peculiar request. “What the fuck? Why the shower??”

He would never get over the sight of Trevor smelling himself in a million years -- not even if he miraculously died _again_. Not that or the fact that his friend’s nose wrinkled in disgust slightly as he shrugged and said, “Well, if you want your bed or the couch smelling like me, that’s up to you, but even by my standards, I’m pretty rank.” Then his eyes fell to the ground as he mumbled, “I’m not sure you’d do me anywhere else anyway with your high standards.”

He wanted to laugh at the notion that he of all fucking people had high standards given the pigsty he currently lived in, but when he thought about appearance, he supposed Trevor had a small point. He was meticulous about his, sometimes probably embarrassingly so. Yeah, so he’d been teased in the past, but what guy _didn’t_ like to look good? It was all about getting laid in the end, _wasn’t_ it?

Except Trevor could look like hot garbage and still pull numbers like it was nobody’s business. How the fuck he managed to do that was beyond Michael’s ability to comprehend. He chalked it up to that “give no shits” attitude. It had certainly attracted him. That, and the wild gleam he got in his eyes when he was up to no good. And the things he could with his mouth….

Shaking thoughts from his mind, he got up and tugged Trevor up with him, steadying them both on their wobbly feet. “We don’t have to do shit, man. I’m just happy to be here with you.” Mike hugged him closely and rocked him in time to the music again. 

He could definitely feel that Trevor wanted to do something though, and an errant idea flew through his head as he reached down to stroke the front of his friend’s blood-caked jeans which elicited a noisy groan from the man. Laughing warmly in his ear, Mike grunted lustfully, “Or we _can_ go in there if you want.”

There was a two-second pause as if Trevor needed to make it look convincing like he was actually considering his options before he grabbed Michael’s palm within his sweaty one and guided them both toward the bathroom, stumbling over all manner of trash and bullshit along the way. When a beer bottle nearly sent them both sailing, he finally heaved an aggravated sigh and narrowed his eyes at Michael in frustration. “Would it kill you to fucking clean this shithole once in a while so we don’t die on our way there?”

“That’s rich coming from you,” Michael couldn’t help but laugh in his face. 

“I know, I know,” Trevor groused, pulling them into the tiny off-white tiled space and began turning the knobs in the shower, “but I can’t show you how much I fucking love you if I’m on my way to the goddamn morgue, now can I?”

_Love?_

They’d done all manner of shit and said all sorts of everything, but he’d never heard the words even so much as _uttered_ his direction. Sure, maybe as a joke but never like that. He wasn’t even sure he was hearing him correctly then. Almost all of their goddamn conversations about feelings either ended in hellish squabbles, weeks-long awkwardness, or Trevor’s patented ignoring of the issue with a “Hey, let’s fuck!”

But never a real declaration of love, so why the fuck now??

“Whoa!” he yelled, throwing up his hands and backing up although he realized somewhere in the back of his mind that he was twisting himself into the corner of the bathroom...and maybe he wanted that a bit, fuck, he didn’t know. Maybe he didn’t want a way to run from what was coming. “How much you _what??_ ”

Trevor straightened himself up and stretched, obviously going through great lengths to hide his face as he answered, “Jesus Christ, Michael, I know you heard me. Don’t make me repeat it.”

“How...how long?”

He didn’t know what good it would do to hear the answer. The damage was done. There was no “them,” could be no “them,” but a small part of him caught up in old movies and novellas yearned for “them” just the same. That part was the one always left hanging on, wanting to know how far this was going to go even if he kept trying to push it back down where it belonged. 

Trevor audibly swallowed and focused on a spot in the tile of the floor where it was cracked and coming apart, another one of those fucking things Michael had been meaning to fix in his life but just never could find the fucking time or energy to care. “Um, this is a hard one, Mikey,” he mumbled meekly while toeing a piece of the crack in the floor, “because I’m pretty sure I fell in love with you the minute I saw you.”

He’d been waiting his whole life to hear words like that, pure poetry spoken to him, about him, and it came from some oddball motherfucker he still had yet to figure out. It infuriated him as much as it thrilled the fuck out of him too. He wasn’t sure what to say, and the first thing to his head was, “Bullshit.”

OK, so maybe he hadn’t meant to say that.

“I mean, you’ve said yourself that _‘love at first sight’_ romance chick crap is bullshit, Trevor, so now I’m supposed to believe you’ve loved _me_ since the day you iced some old fat fuck?” Then he started chuckling slowly, realizing he sounded a bit assholish even to his own ears, but damn, if Trevor had loved him that whole fucking time, what had any of this meant? “You know what? It makes sense. That’s our miserable fucking calling card, right there, in this whole...whatever the fuck we have.” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, knowing a headache was the only thing he was likely to get out of this whole cockamamie mess now.

An anguished growl erupted in the room, and he just barely got his eyes open before Trevor was in his face, lips clinging miserably to his, tears running down his cheeks like little rivers blazing new trails, and his tongue slid out against the parting of Michael’s lips...goddammit, he didn’t want that to be his undoing, but he’d always had a habit of opening up his mouth like a whore preparing to receive cock whenever someone pried at him even just the smallest amount, and he hummed like a tuning instrument as Trevor thrust his tongue inside.

And just as quickly as he had been teased, Trevor pulled away panting. Their heads were still bowed together, and he watched as fat droplets fell and hit the floor at their feet. “I...I...I’m so fucking sorry, Mikey.” More droplets hit Michael’s feet, splattering between his toes like little testaments to what had been hidden there for so long, where he’d just been idly disregarding it like a fool. “I thought...I don’t know what the fuck I thought.” He laughed pointedly, and it turned into a bitter cough. “I guess I expected you to just realize it one day. I didn’t think you’d settle down with someone, not in our line of work, I guess.” He peered up at Michael with his swollen red eyes, trying bravely to grin. “I’d hoped anyway.”

Michael closed his eyes again and blew out a slow breath, really keening for a fucking cigarette right now, but as it was, they were wasting all of the hot water on this ridiculous shit, and he didn’t want to think about things they couldn’t do anything about. The only thing he knew was that he had a killer migraine starting and a need for something in his mouth, and he was going to fix one of those problems, so using all of his upper body strength, he pushed the both of their bodies under the spray of water and then kneeled before his dazed friend, taking him into his mouth without another chance to dwell on it too much or they’d be there analyzing over this bullshit all night. 

And Jesus, he didn’t expect Trevor to taste or feel so good. It wasn’t the first time -- and years later, he’d know it certainly wasn’t the last at all -- but damn, it was different. Was it because of those three little fucking words? Would it have mattered if they had come from anyone else? 

Christ, even Amanda hadn’t said them to him yet. Everything between them was awkward still and almost conducted like a goddamn business transaction which he didn’t try to hold against her because that was the only way she knew to act emotionally, after all, and fuck him, he wasn’t much better. 

It had to be that. Love put a different perspective on things. He glanced up at Trevor who had his eyes shut tightly and his face screwed up a bit funny but was otherwise peaceful and content. He rarely saw this crazy bastard in such a state. Everything, including sex, was balls to the wall with him. 

Had anyone ever just done something nice for him _just because?_ Hell, Michael wasn’t even sure if _he_ had as he dug into his thoughts, scavenging for anything useful. 

Finding nothing, he decided he preferred that look on Trevor’s face as opposed to what had greeted him at Lester’s house and wanted to keep it there, so he wrapped his arms around his friend’s waist and coaxed him towards him until he was practically gasping for air because his mouth was filled to the brim with every essence of Trevor, and he moaned around him which in turn caused Trevor to cry out a single solitary, “ _Why?_ ”

Mike popped him out with relative ease, relishing the flavor left behind on his lips by making a spectacle of licking them thoroughly while water sprayed his face like an eager teenager. He watched smugly as Trevor’s eyes crossed before retorting, “Because I want to.”

“No, no, _no!_ ” Trevor tried slapping him away and jerking himself backward, but Mike had a grip on him that wasn’t going anywhere. Partially out of concern for the fucking numbskull because he didn’t want him to slip and break something, but also because he wanted him to come undone. He wanted Trevor to feel every goddamn way he’d caused him to feel up to this very point. The way his heart skipped a beat whenever Trevor grinned or the light caught his eyes just right. The giddiness he swallowed whenever Trevor faked being invested with shit just because he didn’t want to disappoint him. The torment he’d felt the night when they were still learning about each other, and Trevor had told him about the abuses he had suffered at the hands of everyone he had come across in his short life. The confusion he buried deep within his belly at the thought of him because he didn’t understand him or any of the ways he acted toward him. The fucking pure lust that coursed through him at the flicker of a switch that Trevor seemed to control with just a word or a movement. The tenderness that filled his chest at just the thought of his name. 

He wanted it to eat the motherfucker alive and then some because God knows it had been doing it to him for quite some time.

“Oh _yes_ ,” he taunted but without an ounce of actual harm to it. “You deserve this and more for waiting till the last fucking minute to tell me this, you prick.” He traced patterns with his tongue which meant nothing to anyone but him in the flesh underneath Trevor’s cock and listened to him squeal and grunt like an overly excited pig while his hands delved into the skin and muscles of Mike’s shoulders to steady himself. 

“I’m sorry, goddammit, Mike,” he hissed and whimpered when Mike tongued a particularly sensitive spot underneath the tip. “What the fuck was I supposed to do, eh? _Force_ you to be with someone like me?” 

Not exactly fond of the words Trevor was using about himself but used to his self-hate tirades, Mike used his teeth to graze along the delicate flesh of his head, and that was a quick enough reminder to bring him to a stop. Then he glared up at him, tightening his grip on Trevor’s dick with each word, hoping to get his attention and prove a point. “ _Someone_ like you? What the fuck is wrong with you? I’ve been friends with you for _how_ long? We’ve been _fucking_ for how long??” He laughed sharply, desperately trying to keep his anger in check. “Why tell me now, Trevor? What is the fucking purpose now when I’m getting married?? It’s not like we can even do anything besides be friends!”

Trevor shivered violently against the tiled wall, and it took Michael a minute to realize that he wasn’t shaking from anger -- he was crying again. “I...I _know_...I know.”

Fuck, he was a horrible friend. A horrible friend, a horrible lover, and what the fuck was he even getting married for? How was he going to be as a husband if he was always hurting the ones he loved?

No...no, wait. No, _fuck_. That was the booze talking. He loved Amanda. Amanda. _Not_ Trevor. Definitely not Trevor.

The water began to grow colder around them, chilling him to the bone. He felt woozy suddenly like his senses were telling him that he wasn’t quite inside of his body even though his brain was explaining to him why that didn’t sound correct. 

Part of him was stuck in some sort of fantasy mode where it would be OK, that Trevor could love him, that everything would work out alright, and they would all be fine. It didn’t want any harm to come to anyone, but least of all, Trevor. He’d been through enough in his life. 

And the more logical part of him was whispering in the back of his head that there was nothing he could do, that someone was bound to get hurt because that was life. Someone got what they wanted while someone got hurt. Just how the game of winning worked, after all.

But he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Trevor this exposed. It had been a long time. Emotions didn’t come easy to either one of them unless they were of the aggressive variety, but they didn’t come to Trevor in this form that much at all. Every fucking time he was like this, he became someone Mike wanted to protect.

He reached around Trevor and turned the knobs until icy droplets stopped beating down against their skin like little numbing pinpricks, then carefully guided them both out of the shower, around the obstacle course that was his carpeted floor, and toward the mangy couch-bed that was on its last leg in what constituted as the living room in this cheap hovel. He knew he needed to get some actual adult-type furniture, but he never could find it in him to actually give a damn yet...maybe because Trevor didn’t care about these things, he didn’t push him any further than he wanted to go at any time. He liked it that way.

Though he could also see it as a bad thing. Trevor wasn’t willing to push him to be the best he needed to be. Trevor wanted him to stay as he always was, and Amanda...Amanda wanted him to go on to bigger and better things. She had aspirations just like he’d had once. Did Trevor? Had Trevor ever had anything planned before that fateful day? He knew about the military stuff, of course, and a few other things, but it was all shit that had always sounded like things that were means to an end. An end to _him_. 

It bothered him. Didn’t Trevor want anything out of life? Was _he_ holding Trevor back?

He didn’t want to be the one to hurt him anymore. Even if it pained him to do so, he had to put a stop to it all for Trevor’s own good. He had to force him to move on instead of laying still inside of the stagnant waters that had become them. They’d never get to the _Big One_ if they couldn’t concentrate on work instead of each other. 

Trevor laid back on the mattress, a soggy mess looking more boyish than manly at that moment, full of wide eyes and hiccups leftover from the previous emotional blustering he’d delivered in the bathroom shower. Honey-colored irises blinked up at Michael warily, waiting for him to do something, and an idea struck him as he stumbled toward his makeshift dresser and plucked a Polaroid Onestep from the top of it. Trevor looked like he hadn’t aged a day since they’d puked near each other over the smell of charred human, and he wanted to capture it before he forgot it because somehow, someway, he knew Trevor wouldn’t be fresh, young, carefree, or full of lovely feelings like this. 

They weren’t built to last.

“What the hell are you doing, Michael?” Trevor snapped harshly, bringing him back to reality. “I get it, OK? We only have time for some quick fun, and that’s it, so get the fuck on with it,” he muttered agonizingly, shifting onto his belly and spreading his legs.

Michael grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him back over. This had to be it. Their swan song. And he didn’t...God help him, even if he burned in Hell, he didn’t want to do it without seeing Trevor’s face one last time. He would never be able to live with himself if he didn’t know how it could be, looking into the face of the one he...the one who loved him.

“No, Trev, look,” he begged softly, “I...I want to do it this way.”

“We don’t _ever_ fucking do it this way, and you know that,” Trevor bristled suddenly, the walls slamming back into place. 

“You...you said you...I,” he muttered lamely, not knowing how to finish. It was always hard to talk when Trevor cut off like this. The only thing he understood was...wait. He knew what to do, so he pulled every ounce of damning fury he felt over the entire situation and aimed it at the person responsible. “Look, you thickheaded motherfucker! You told me you love me! This is how I want to do it right now, Jesus tapdancing Christ!!”

The bed began to bounce, nearly knocking him off. “You didn’t tell me it back!!” Trevor barked back hoarsely, his lids closed, but Michael could still make out the new waves of shimmeriness in the corners that pooled, doing their best to spill. 

He looked all over the room, hoping for just a few drops of whiskey...something to take the edge off because he was too close to sobering up and goddamn, he didn’t want that. His eyes saw nothing but empty bottles, but he did catch a glint of baggy that still had some coke residue, and he put it to his nose, snorting and praying for any kind of help through this though he was sure that it wasn’t God who answered those kinds of prayers. Halfway through the middle of snorting, he was struck with a bit of realization. 

He was doing this to run away from his problems with himself.

Just like Trevor. 

He was just like Trevor.

They were no goddamn different. 

“This has to be the end,” came out of his mouth before he knew he was saying it. “I don’t know what it is, T. You waited too long, maybe, or I’m just not the right person, I don’t know. I just know what I want to grow up and move on eventually, and to do that, we have to put our noses to the grind and actually fucking work instead of treating this like some sort of bullshit game.” 

He heard a derisive snort. “She made you this way. It was never about work before, Mikey.” Trevor sat up on his elbow, his doe eyes boring holes into Michael’s. “You planned everything out, we were going to be like Bonnie and Clyde, remember? You had all of the romantic movie ideas in your head. I just followed along.”

That made certain thoughts niggle at the base of his brain again. “What did you want to do with your life, Trevor?”

His friend shrugged. “Nothing special. I just wanted to follow you.”

Michael’s heart twinged, but fueled on by the coke, he crawled back toward Trevor and took the hand that wasn’t under his head, holding it gently. “This has to be the last time. I...I don’t know when or _if_ there will be other opportunities. I...I have to _try_ to be somewhat faithful to Amanda.”

Trevor had nodded with the same kind of patience and understanding a person shows a little kid, and Michael knew that, but he didn’t care as he climbed back over Trevor’s wonderfully sinewy but lean body and asked him one more time if it was OK to do it that way. And Trevor nodded again, except that time there was more terror behind it as if he’d been made to lay bare for Michael to see. 

And that’s how it ended up being. 

He saw every little nuance on Trevor’s face or heard each quiver in his voice every time he changed angles, noticed the way he gingerly bit his bottom lip whenever a particularly sensitive spot inside was touched, tried to gaze into his eyes as they held hands, but found himself lost in the fire behind them, and at one point, Trevor closed them because he was crying again. 

“I don’t want it to end. Please don’t make it end.”

Reaching out to stroke his cheek, Michael wept with him. “I don’t want it to either.” As his thumb came to rest under Trevor’s chin, it took a few minutes to comprehend that he _really_ didn’t want it to either, and ah God, he was fucking pathetic now. The tears wouldn’t stop, and the both of them lamented silently, staring openly into one another’s eyes, holding hands while Michael thrust into him affectionately because he wouldn’t dare allow himself to think about it any other way. 

“It’s OK, Michael. I love you. I...I’m OK.” Trevor hesitated for a moment, looking so unlike the man he knew, “I...I’m never going to love anyone else.”

His throat constricted excruciatingly, and his heart felt like it was squeezing within its cage made of bone, but goddamn it goaded him on. His legs and hips had a mind of their own, pounding relentlessly causing the body beneath him to scream out in ecstasy.

He’d heard Trevor scream in every other fucking demeanor but never that. Sex was talkative, sure, and filled with all sorts of melodious grunts and shit-talking but not that. Never that, never ever that.

Why did those words prod him so much??

Trevor became the equivalent of a Gregorian monk chanting a prayer of love as Mike carried him home. He hadn’t even needed to jerk himself nor did Mike need to do it for him because he had only needed to hear, “God, I’m cumming,” roll from Mike’s tongue before he had done so all over his own stomach.

Jesus Christ, he had _no_ business looking that fucking good covered in... 

...but he wasn’t Michael’s anymore to worry about, not in that way. He needed to cut this shit out.

* * *

No, they hadn’t stopped completely. There were times over the years leading up to Ludendorff where they still met clandestinely, although he was sure Lester had half a clue as to what they were up to when they disappeared, or he insisted on them staying in the same room _because they were still friends, so it wouldn’t matter_. 

Amanda had her own thoughts too, but they all revolved around him fucking strippers or whores, and as long as she had no idea about his best friend, he couldn’t really be bothered. 

But Trevor continued on his decline, smoking as much crystal meth as he could get his hands on, claiming it helped him with focusing, and Michael could see some of that when they were working a job, but then he’d get so fucking cocky or he’d shoot someone just for the hell of it, and he was putting them all at risks he’d never taken before. 

It not only pissed off Michael, but it also concerned the fuck out of him. Trevor was more abrasive, colder, didn’t give a fuck about anything or anyone...he’d shot up in front of the kids and left his shit lying around everywhere. He’d argued for a week with Amanda about how there was something wrong with with his best friend, that it wasn’t _like_ him to do that, but she hadn’t given two shits. Probably rightfully so. She was a mother, her only responsibility was to her children, not some tweaked-out Canadian thief. Priorities, after all.

He wasn’t immune to Trevor’s newfound cruelty either. In fact, he seemed to be the focal point in most cases. 

It didn’t take a detective to figure that one out.

Not long before he had run into the man he now knew as Dave Norton, he had run across the Polaroid he’d snapped two days before his wedding, old and wrinkled after so many years of being stuffed into one of his long-forgotten noir books, and he had shut his eyes fondly recalling that night, remembering how Trevor had captivated him so, but when he had opened them back up, the picture wasn’t the same. 

Trevor had looked just as he had when he had shown up at Lester’s: pockmarks searing his skin, dark circles underneath sunken eyes with no more spark, bones starting to jut out looking like a sad skeleton, hair beginning to thin from age -- and probably lack of nutrition...he had been in a bad state and had just gotten worse over the years.

Had it been the booze that had blurred his vision? The coke?

Or had the fact that Trevor had told him those three precious words was what had blinded him to all of the blatant flaws in front of his face? 

And here they were now, swaying to the same song that had started him on the road to ruin in so many ways, but what _kind_ was it, really? His? Trevor’s? How many times had Michael wondered that over the past year and a half since Trevor had come back blazing into his life?

As they glided along the sweat-and-alcohol-laden floor, he was still haunted by that same old question from long ago, the one they’d been dancing around forever. “Trevor?” he mused, his eyelashes heavy and thick with memories and overindulgences. His old lover-friend hummed in time with the tune, filling his ear pleasantly, but nodded against his neck, acknowledging him. “You’ve never answered me. What did you want to be before all of this?”

Trevor stopped suddenly as if someone had paused a button and blinked. Staring everywhere except Michael, he shrugged. “I said this before, but you apparently need a fucking rehash for some reason -- I never needed anything but to follow you.”

Inebriated Mike smiled lovingly at him, threw his arms around Trevor’s head, and pulled him close enough to feel every wonderful place on his body he definitely _wanted_ to feel. He moistened his lips. “I appreciate that, but that’s not what I’ve been asking you for all of these fucking years, you dipshit. I...I need to know,” he wavered, trying to think of the words to say, “I need to understand if I fucked up your life. Didn’t you have something you wanted to be before me? Before the goddamn dealing, the theft, the military, for Christ's sake? Before all of it? When you were a kid.” 

Trevor’s eyes moved to the ground guiltily. 

“Trevor??” Dammit, he _knew_ there had to have been something kept from him this whole time. No one grew up having no ambition at all. Everyone had dreams. _Everyone_. 

Cautiously he peered back up at Michael and frowned. “I know what you’re thinking, OK? I _know_ you, Mike, you forget that.” He clucked his tongue angrily. “I...I loved art, OK? I...always got into it as a kid, all of it. I doodled, painted...I did more sewing than just patching up rips and buttons, _alright?_ ” he jabbered viciously, yanking them toward a lonely table. “I...I was _good_ at it, Mikey,” he sighed dejectedly, “but you couldn’t be good at that shit in my household. I mean, you know how it was.”

He knew. The unspoken rules of being boys in those days of yore. But it still didn’t explain why he’d never seen even as much as a Trevor draw a stick figure in the time they’d shared. “Why did you stop?” 

Trevor looked away nervously. “I...I didn’t really stop. I just don’t do it around anyone. I don’t show it to anyone,” Michael’s eyes lit up in genuine surprise and excitement, “and before you even fucking _think_ about it, I’m not _ever_ fucking showing it so get that idea right out of your ass, Michael.”

Mike leaned forward on his hands and smirked. “Ever painted me?”

The response was a blush that went from ear to ear, followed by, “Fuck you.”

“I _bet_ you want to,” he teased mercilessly, not really knowing where the hell that had come from, but just the same, he didn’t care. This new development had him seeing Trevor in a new light. “Is there anything else you’re keeping from me?”

Trevor stared straight into his eyes, and Michael would be lying if he said he wasn’t both shaken and turned on by the way they held each other’s gaze as easily as they’d once held each other in their arms. “I _do_ want to. You don’t know how badly I want to fuck you.”

Jesus Christ, Mother Mary, and...and what was the rest? Fuck, he was a married man still. He was married, he was married to Amanda still, and he was so drunk, and…

“I still love you, Mikey. I’ve never stopped loving you. I fucking hate you for what you did to me, but...I can’t stop loving you either.” Trevor started to both laugh and cry. “Fucking life, eh? I can’t help myself either way.” 

...nothing ever changed. 

He was still a married man, wishing he wasn’t married to the person he was with. He was still drinking to forget that he had to hide...hide _what?_ Did they _have_ to hide anymore?? Jesus, he’d spent so much of his life being goddamn unhappy, and the only times he wasn’t completely miserable were the ones associated with his kids before they’d left the Midwest to become Los Santos assholes and Trevor. The ones with Amanda were far and few. He...hated to admit that, hated to admit that they were a failure, that he had failed her. She’d deserved better.

He dared a peek at Trevor and saw exactly what he was expecting -- two honey-colored eyes shining at him as if he held the ability to take away the pain, to erase a decade’s worth of misery, maybe even more. 

Well, didn’t he?

Ordering another shot of Johnnie Walker Blue Label from a passing waiter, he closed himself off momentarily even though he knew that kind of shit had the tendency to aggravate the fuck out of Trevor, but he needed to sit and contemplate. When his whiskey came back, he stared into the amber liquid, hoping for answers but found nothing useful. 

It didn’t come in the form of booze but a song playing over the speakers. 

_“I_ _f I was the thinking heart, and you were the loving soul with all of my feelings sharp, you came crashing in my world….”_

Trevor had definitely done that, firing that flare. Well, and he had done it to Trevor, nearly wrecking into the hangar while trying to escape that old fat fuck. They had wound themselves thoroughly together and then some, and as he looked across at his distressed friend who sat chewing his dirty nails, he wasn’t bothered by it anymore. In fact, the more he sipped, the warmer and better he felt, and the happier he was to have crashed into Trevor’s life. 

But if he was going to showcase _his_ vulnerabilities, then goddammit, his ol’ pal was going to come off with _some_ too. He downed the rest and rolled the newly empty glass between his hands pensively. “Let’s go to your place.”

Trevor eyed him curiously. “ _All_ the fucking way in Sandy Shores?” 

“Wherever the fuck your artwork is, dammit. I want to see it.”

“Oh... _oh_.” Trevor crossed his arms in front of him, an old defensive habit. “It’s...uh, that shit isn’t there. I, uh, I keep it at the Unicorn for safekeeping so no one can accidentally stumble into it. There’s a secret compartment in the wall that came with the place.”

“Wade?”

Biting laughter hit the air with a sting. “Wade knows better than to bother me in the office. If it’s actually important, he calls.”

Michael shook his head in disbelief. “Jesus, whatever. I just want to see that it exists and that you’re not putting me on.”

All of a sudden, a shadow towered over him, blocking his view of the dancefloor and twinkling lights. Trevor extended a hand toward him. “C’mon if you’re coming.”

“I, uh, I can’t drive myself?” He hated stating the obvious, especially making himself sound like he was so fucking afraid to wander off into the dark with Trevor alone, but maybe, in a way he was. He worried about himself and how the absence of light seemed to affect him and bring memories he’d rather leave dead to the surface like rotting corpses. 

“No, you can’t drive yourself,” Trevor retorted patronizingly. “If you want to see the shit, it’s on _my_ terms.” He took an uneasy breath and looked down at him. “I’m...I’m already fucking scared.” Motioning for Michael to grab his hand again, Michael didn’t hesitate this time. They were both frightened by the unknown, but there was safety in being terrified together. 

They climbed in the Bodhi and drove the distance from Vinewood to Strawberry, listening in companionable silence to New York Dolls, Blondie, The Ramones, The Queers, and anything else Channel X was playing at this ungodly hour. He was still impressed with Trevor’s ability to stay on the right side of the road even if he swerved the lines a bit, but shit, he even did that while sober. As long as they managed to get there in one piece, was it his to worry over? 

It was nice like this. Nice to just let someone else worry for once, in a place where he didn’t have to feel like he was on or people were looking to him for answers. Even Trevor had finally stopped staring at him like he was going to come swooping in and rescue him from everything in his despairing life. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been able to relax completely. Even now, he wasn’t one-hundred percent there. There was always an eye out for trouble, a guard left up just because. 

When they reached the Vanilla Unicorn, he watched quietly as Trevor conducted himself every bit as the business-minded individual he said he was. Sure, he was rough around the edges, but he got shit done. He turned a profit, according to Ron. It wasn’t the Trevor he’d known. Far from it. 

This was where he knew he’d had to leave. Trevor would have still been following him like a kicked puppy licking its wounds, they’d still be in North Yankton freezing their balls off, probably in prison a dozen times over, maybe even dead...he didn’t want to envision it. No, this Trevor wasn’t Steve Jobs, but he was as close as he could get in his line of work. 

He was a brilliant manager, he cared about the employees who were loyal to him, he understood exactly what his customers wanted and gave it to them, cutting through the bullshit to deliver. There was no doubt about it: he was good at what he did, and he wouldn’t have gotten to this point if he hadn’t been forced to do it on his own. 

A wretched smile graced Michael’s face at that knowledge, even if he was happy for him. 

Trevor turned into the managerial office and undid two corner flaps of some country in South America, and a huge safe came into Michael’s line of sight. He watched as a key turned a lock, and as the door was opened, all sorts of framed paintings, old sketchbooks, loose papers, and a Singer sewing machine could be seen. 

His brain could only think to produce a whistle as he moved toward it all, but Trevor jumped in front of him.

“Did you think I stuttered back there??” he snapped at Michael then sighed into his hands. “I meant what I said, Mikey. I’m scared. I’ve never shown this to anyone at all. What if...what if you hate it? Father hated it all, Ryan made fucking fun of me...Mother just tolerated everything.”

“I’m not them,” Michael promised, trying to be patient, but it was hard with a minuscule eyeful just over Trevor’s shoulder. 

His friend huffed but moved out of the way, and Michael was left to let his eyes behold the feast spread out before him. Some paintings he recognized as old haunts for which there’d once been photos, others were newer places like the beaches along the Pacific or by the Alamo Sea. 

One was his old house. The same place that later became the one he shared with Amanda and baby Tracey. 

“Holy shit,” he whispered, touching the painting softly as if he could slip through time and go through the doors if he _just_ tried.

“Blast from the past, eh?” Trevor snorted. “They’re all shit.”

Ignoring the often self-deprecating feelings that came from his friend, he focused on the sketchbooks, flipping through some, awed by gorgeous renderings of Amanda doing normal tasks, the kids at play and sleep, a few of Lester at the computer, one of Brad and Moses together playing cards…

...and over two dozen of him. Younger him. Hell, had he ever looked that good??

Another book less yellowed housed more recent work of Ron, Wade, an obese lady he didn’t know, another one of Trevor’s friends-slash-employees, even Frank and his buddy, Lamar, but it wasn’t filled yet. 

An even older one was shoved up underneath everything else, probably on purpose because it was one of those weird-ass Lisa Frank spiralbound lined notebooks from the late ‘80s, adorned with teen girl in neon-colored shades and very curly perm blond hair asking the audience to check out the dark-haired guy reflected in her glasses. 

He _remembered_ this one. Hazy memories, but memories nonetheless. Their first year, Trevor hunched over it with a pen, doodling while they were high as fuck...said he was making notes, but he’d never let Michael see. 

“No!!” Trevor batted his hand away now, still unwilling for him to know what was hidden inside. “Get the fuck away from that one!”

Something inside him told him he _had_ to see, that this was important. _This_ had meant something in all of this mess, enough for Trevor to have kept it so goddamn long and especially so carefully, so he yanked it away and held his breath, praying Trevor wouldn’t get too pissed off as he opened it up. 

Poetry. Wonderfully romantic poems littered small spots like ejaculated thoughts on the pages along with randoms hearts and flowers, dress designs, journaled ideas about wondering what it would be like to have been born a girl instead so Michael could love him freely, their names written together in so many delicately scripted ways….

He felt ashamed and sick like he’d just been peeking into Trevor’s head. 

But it was also an elated feeling. He’d never felt so...loved or wanted by anyone. In innocent ways. In the ways he’d always wished for himself but felt hopelessly undeserving about. 

Was it too late? Could there be a “them” now that time had moved on, taking the rest of the world with it? 

“It’s beautiful,” he whispered, handing the precious item back to its keeper who took it with trembling hands. 

“I...I don’t understand. It’s nothing,” Trevor mumbled in confusion. “It’s just bullshit. It’s always been bullshit.”

Michael grasped him by the shoulders and looked him in the eyes. “Hey, it’s not bullshit. Stop calling it that.” He embraced the shaking man, trying to get him to understand what he felt inside. “It’s all beautiful, man,” he uttered, rubbing Trevor’s back with soft strokes, heart thumping wildly when he moaned aloud. “You...you’re beautiful.” A hand lazily caressed Trevor’s blushing cheek, and goddamn did he ever want to blame his actions on the whiskey, but he knew he couldn’t. “I don’t know if you realize that. I...I did...I did right before the wedding.”

“Why, Michael,” the morose voice in front of him pleaded hauntingly, “why tell me now.”

Yes, why tell him now?

Had it been the song and the memories it had brought with it which had come crashing into him like a tidal wave? Was it in the way he finally answered this question that had always plagued him? Or the answer itself? So many magnificent pieces produced by an obviously talented hand secreted away lovingly despite the fear of embarrassment. And the profound words on those pages, delivered by someone who knew and yearned for love even if he said he didn’t. 

Or had it been there all along, just left frozen by the years spent apart?

And...and what he had written! “Trevor, you know you’re OK just as you are, right?” Michael’s eyes shifted to the floor guiltily. “I know I’ve said awful shit, but you...you don’t have to change, alright?” 

It was Trevor’s surprised gaze that turned to the floor next. “Oh.”

The one thing that had him honestly puzzled was the sewing machine. He thought most were aware that Trevor could stitch shit but maybe not. “So why is that in there?” He asked, pointing a finger at it.

Trevor shrug nonchalantly, thumbing through some paintings. “I like to sew, some of the girls like new wardrobes. It’s a win-win.” His attention settled on a particular painting. “Ha!” he exclaimed as he plucked it out, being mindful not to snag it on anything. He turned it around for Michael to examine. 

He saw himself as he’d been at just barely twenty-one except for being definitely more Renaissance cherubim-like in appearance with angel wings and piercing blue eyes trying to escape the licking flames of Hell at his feet and a foul demon who looked suspiciously like a younger Trevor. The reaction on young Michael’s face was one of pure agony.

The picture was fucking sublime. 

Trevor cleared his throat. “This was...uh, it was how I figured I made you feel.” He laughed uneasily and rubbed the framed nervously. “Uh, how I still make you feel, fuck.”

“You _do_ make me feel like that,” he admitted and watched as Trevor’s face fell before his hands balled into fists alongside him, so he dared to grab one and squeeze, “but you make me feel so many fucking things I can’t put into words. I...I’ve never been able to put into words, T. I...I’m not poetic like you, apparently. What you write is goddamn amazing. It makes me feel so many things all at once.” Tears were shining in Trevor’s eyes. “And the way you rattle off French is fucking orgasmic, it should be a sin.” 

That put a sly grin back on his friend’s face. “Je suis désolé d'être un tel péché. Voudriez-vous pécher avec moi? (*I’m sorry for being such a sin. Would you like to sin with me?*)” He winked at Michael and moved forward to nuzzle his neck.

Michael was going to have the last laugh this time around. Trevor had said all sorts of shit to him over the years in French just because he could, and Michael had been sure the man had been making fun of him behind his back. One of the first things he did with all of his free time and money was to pick up some lessons in the language. 

He hadn’t expected that Trevor had been professing his feelings more openly in it because he had felt more comfortable doing so that way. That...had been a rough time in his life. So many sleepless years after that. 

“J'ai appris un peu de français...mmm, espèce de connard. Je l'ai fait pour toi. Oui, j'aimerais pécher avec vous (*I learned a little French...mmm, you asshole. I did it for you. Yes, I would like to sin with you.*),” he murmured into the astonished Canadian’s ear. 

“Mikey!” Trevor spat hotly, looking to yank himself from Michael’s arms now that the tables were turned. “You fucking tease!”

He broke out into a grin and stuck out his tongue. “Only for you, baby.”

A pair of warm honey eyes searched his. “This better not be the fucking booze talking, Michael, because I swear--”

“It’s not,” he replied with conviction. The longer they talked, the more time he had to think, and the more he sobered up, the less hazy he felt...the easier it became to concede, to recognize what he should’ve seen in himself all along.

“I want you to fuck me.”

Trevor stared at him as if he’d grown another head. 

So he tried again. “Je veux que tu me baises! (I want you to fuck me!)” He laid down on the couch, sweat slipping from his forehead, and he was sure it was both from excitement _and_ nervousness. “It’s always been me, right? Like I had some sort of shit to prove to myself and to you, but I don’t anymore. The dynamics have changed. I...I’m not in my twenties anymore, Trev. We aren’t.” He slowly unbuttoned his shirt. “I’ve got to take this fucking thing off and come to grips with the fact that you’re going to crack a goddamn fat joke or geezer joke any minute now--”

Trevor latched onto his hand and forced their faces close together. “Yeah, yeah, I crack jokes, but let’s get one thing straight: I love Michael Townley as he’s always been, every beautiful flaw and crack, because I...I don’t know anyone else who comes any closer to understanding the flaws and cracks in me,” he stated simply, his voice breaking down at the end.

And that was when he knew. He...he felt it, he _knew_ it, but he couldn’t say the words still. They were stuck in his throat, somewhere around his heart. 

“I...there’s this feeling in me like I need to protect you, I _want_ to protect you, but sometimes,” Michael ran his tongue over his lips, trying to work out how to form the picture that was in his head and make it sensible, “I want to just let go too, you know? I’m tired of always being the one everyone looks to for answers.” He sighed heavily, trying desperately to not lose it there because he was beyond a grown man at this point, dammit. He _didn’t_ cry. “I want someone to...I just want...I need--”

“Shhhh,” Trevor put a finger to his mouth to hush him and smiled at him sympathetically. “J’ai envie de toi (I want you).” 

Michael stared at him, the ceiling, anywhere his eyes could reach, not knowing where the fuck to settle. He was a bundle of nerves, ready to get this over with but not willing to let it end just yet. It was something that needed to be savored like a fine whiskey to him. Fuck, it wasn’t every day he asked someone, especially Trevor, to pop his cherry, as it were. 

His teeth found the inside of his mouth and chewed anxiously in anticipation as he watched Trevor undress with as much grace as one of the strippers. He’d always been so damn limber, but goddamn, Michael had forgotten just _how_ much.

And of course, there were other curiosities that always stayed unanswered like just how much of that shit did he learn from his mother. He sure as hell didn’t learn it at the Unicorn, but Michael ignored it conveniently. Another question, another time. Time was something in abundance now, unlike the distant past. 

“Fuck, Trevor, will you c’mon or I’m going to regret being on this side of shit,” he grouched and fidgeted with his belt and pants. 

“Ah, there’s the Michael Townley I know and love,” Trevor chuckled and helped him remove the rest of his clothes. “I knew he was still in there somewhere,” he proclaimed while pinching Mike’s nipples, causing him to cry out in bliss.

“Jesus fuck!! Watch what you’re doing!”

Trevor glared down at him wickedly and cocked his head. “Mikey, Mikey, Mikey,” he mocked with a smirk. “I don’t think you understand how this is going to work. If you’re on the bottom because you just want to let go sometimes, and being the loving guy I am, I am _more_ than willing to accommodate your needs, well, then that means _I_ am in charge here.” 

Oh Jesus Christ, it was like feasting his eyes on the demon from the painting, and he was in hell, he was in fear, he was enraptured, he was in…

...love.

He was in love. He’d always been in love with this man, ever since that day he’d seen something familiar in his wild eyes glowing from behind the flare gun -- eyes that had grown up in similar aspects even if in different parts of the world. Eyes that dreamed of love but didn’t know what wonders it held.

Trevor bent to taste one nipple while gently working the other one between his deft fingers, and Mike wanted to melt into the cushions beneath him because it wasn’t fucking right that this bastard knew just how sensitive he was there and was using it against him, but all he could do in return was whine petulantly while hoping Trevor would quickly move on. What the fuck ever it was about him, it definitely didn’t take Mike long to get hard. It never really had, but going years without touching and then doing some half-assed dance around each other for over another year? He couldn’t take much more, had already crossed that bridge probably a few months prior. 

Sliding down Mike’s body with ease as if Trevor had practiced it often in his sleep, he took Mike’s cock into his inviting mouth, and _that_ was worth beating himself up over. Shit, he’d forgotten how _good_ T was at this and how much the man bobbing up and down like a fucking pro loved sucking dick...Mother of God, he would cum at that alone. “Trevor,” he murmured dangerously.

Trevor came off with an unnecessarily loud pop, sneering at him. “Oh, I’m sorry. Another day then, eh? That’s OK because I need to loosen you up or this is going to hurt like a fucking bitch.”

He didn’t know what the hell Trevor meant until...oh _God_ , he knew what the hell Trevor _meant_ when a tongue prodded his asshole. It was the most sinful thing he knew he’d ever felt in his whole goddamn life, and he’d _sinned_ _a good portion of it_ , but at the same time, it was like he’d been dead up until this moment, and now he was alive as Trevor rimmed him until he screamed.

“That’s right, Mikey,” Trevor purred delightfully, giving long licks to the skin around the puckered area, “sing for me.”

This time a finger replaced his tongue although that continued to lather the area with hot spit. Sing he did. “Fucking _Christ_ , Trev!” The sensations both threatened to rip him apart and throw him into the heavens. “I...just _do_ it, fuck! I don’t want to wait anymore!” Tears spilled from his eyes and down the corners, hitting his ears and his chin as they crept further. 

Trevor thumbed one and sucked it as he positioned Mike where he wanted him on the couch before placing his cockhead at Mike’s entrance. “You’re so beautiful when you cry. Veuillez me pardonner de vous avoir fait pleurer à nouveau (Please forgive me for making you cry again).” And with that, he pushed inside slightly. 

The pressure was immense, and he’d heard the horror stories, but wasn’t this what it was like for, well, for women, anyway? He wasn’t a fucking wuss to a little pain. And that’s what he kept telling himself as it burned and ached every inch that Trevor slid in.

But the minute they were beyond that, and Trevor was rocking into him whispering sweet French into his ear, he didn’t know what took hold of him. 

Fuck, wait. He _knew_ it...he’d had a prostate exam, goddammit, he was unfortunately at that age--

Oh God, there it was again. _That’s_ what was being hit. Over and fucking over and fucking over, and Jesus fucking Christ, it definitely became that painting. He was trying to escape Trevor’s clutches before he burned in the fire, but fuck, it also seemed so damn tempting, too, the more friction they created together. 

And now he understood how Trevor had been so emotionally overwhelmed, how he’d cum without even the slightest stroke. His senses were being jacked, worse than the Merryweather shit, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was like floating in the water. Relaxing.

Words were stuck though, things he needed to say. He kept coughing on them, trying to make them come up almost to the point of vomiting them out while Trevor fucked him too slowly, and maybe he finally got the need for multiple languages, to convey the things that couldn’t just be uttered in one. 

“Baise-moi fort (*Fuck me hard*),” Mike moaned into his fist.

“What’s that?” Trevor cooed at him. Mike would forever be amazed at how badly this asshole could drive him nuts but also how awesomely bad this ass could drive him nuts. “You need harder, baby?”

Once Trevor switched angles so he could go harder and somehow hit deeper, the sobbing starting and didn’t let up. It was beautiful, it was ecstasy, it was all he’d ever needed, but he still couldn’t put it as eloquently as anything Trevor had stored in that goddamn safe, and it wouldn’t leave him alone. 

“I...I... _fuck_ ,” he cursed miserably as they bounced deliciously on the couch. 

“What the _fuck_ is it, Michael?” Trevor hollered back as he pounded harder, causing Mike’s fingers to sink into the cushions for purchase. “ _Still_ not enough, dammit??”

He didn’t know how to make his mouth work, not with every sensation Trevor was feeding into his nervous system. “N-need...I--”

“You _always_ fucking need _something!_ A cock in your ass isn’t enough either, you greedy fucker??” 

Michael watched as Trevor’s pupils dilated, just as they did when he was excited, about to cum, starking raving pissed off, or about to kill someone. Possibly all of the above. His eyes narrowed into slits, and his hands moved towards Michael’s throat menacingly as he bellowed, “Here! Let me _help_ you get those fucking words out!!”

His world tightened suddenly, and he’d been choked more than a few times, but goddamn, nothing was like being on the receiving end when Trevor did it, and he didn’t want to admit it turned him the fuck on. He could die happily like that and wouldn’t give a damn, and how fucked up would he be? 

_Maybe_ as screwed up as Trevor because he just fucking blew his load, holy shit.

“I l-l--”

“You, you, _you!_ I’m still giving you everything you want and more, and where’s what I’ve been waiting for, Mikey? You _still_ haven’t fucking given it to me. Do you even fucking _remember??_ ”

Fingers worked their way into the muscle around his throat, but there was a spark there behind Trevor’s eyes that let him know that his friend was still in control despite the madness. Maybe one-third of it method acting because Trevor _was_ a bit of a dramatic fucker, and OK, so maybe the rest was him working out his demons, but he wasn’t _all_ gone. 

Mike cracked a smile as well as he could at the one person in his life who couldn’t hurt him no matter how much he hated him. “T’es...l-l’amour de...ma vie (You are the love of my life).”

The hands jerked away and worked quickly to cradle him. “Y-you...you...I’m hallucinating or you didn’t forget.”

“I didn’t forget,” he hacked weakly and leaned into the warm arms embracing him in the afterglow. “I just didn’t know the words.” He reached up to fondle Trevor’s cheeks, his chin, his lips, and crept his hand downward, slowly...slowly, remembering there was all the time in the world. “As long as you’re with me, I know the words now.”

_Nothing's gonna hurt you, baby_

_As long as you're with me, you'll be just fine_

_Nothing's gonna hurt you, baby_

_Nothing's gonna take you from my side_


End file.
